Second Chance
by Sanguine Quill
Summary: The tale of the defeat of Grindelwald by Dumbledore is famous, but there's more to it than many know. It is a story of darkness, war, and struggle, but also of hope, love, and a second chance that changed history. AD/MM now.
1. Sept 1st, 1939: It All Began In Poland

__

Disclaimer: It doesn't belong to me. If it did, it wouldn't be called fanfiction.

Summery:The defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald marked the beginning of Albus Dumbledore's rise to success and made him a household name across the magical world, but there is more to that dark tale than most know. He was closer to Grindelwald than he cared to be and for years before the final battle between them his life was plagued by wretchedness and horror. Then a chance meeting turned the tide, and things were changed for good. All because of one second chance.

AN: Before we begin, I just need to make a few things clear. For the purposes of this fic Dumbledore worked with Flamel and made all his other great discoveries and whatnot after _he defeated Grindelwald. Before the war, he was a great teacher but otherwise not well known. Please, as always, constructive criticsm is appreciated. Flames will be ignored. I'm going to try to respond to all reviews, so let me know what you think. Also, a million thanks to everyone who's reviewed my other fics. I really appreciate it._

****

Second Chance

By: Sanguine Quill

****

"September 1st, 1939: It All Began In Poland"

__

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step." ~Lao Tzu

Lothar Grindelwald stomped impatiently about his cavernous his office, tenting his long, tapered fingers and pressing them to his pale lips and smooth chin. His metallic gray eyes stared sharply ahead; his short salt-and-pepper hair swept carefully back from his extensive forehead, which was now rippled in anxious thought. The rest of his stiff body strongly resembled his fingers - long, narrow, and oddly sharp at the edges. His bony shoulders were set tensely and his elbows looked like they could cut straight through bone. Even the thick robes he wore didn't help to soften his angles at all. In fact, their deep black and red coloring appeared to make him all the more pointed and formidable. It was an effect he thoroughly enjoyed, of course, though without his sweeping black cloak he admitted the total look was a bit less than perfect.

His office also seemed to resemble his fingers. It was long and narrow and could have appeared quite coffin-like if it weren't for the high, domed ceiling and shining black-and-white marble floors and walls. Two tall, slender windows broke up one of the shorter end walls, reaching nearly all the way from floor to ceiling and aiding the black iron chandeliers which hung from the ceiling in casting a grim light through the length of the room. The black curtains framing them were pulled back, but the glass was closed tightly despite the refreshing summer breeze brushing through the city, which was no real shock as they were typically closed, even on the nicest of days in Germany. Between them hung a blood red flag emblazoned with the infamous MagiNazi symbol - a black swastika crowned by a wizard's hat and wand. The rest of the walls were decorated more mundanely with various maps of Europe and the world and portraits of famous and infamous wizards. On the far wall opposite the windows and flag there was a set of massive arched doors which were painted a cold black with the MagiNazi symbol burning in red. It was towards these imposing portals that Grindelwald's expectant eyes kept darting as he paced continually from one wall to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Until finally a heavy knock echoed through the room. Instantly Grindelwald halted and whipped around, dropping his arms stiffly to his sides in what he knew to be his most commanding posture. "Enter," he called briskly in his thin, emotionless voice. The two armed guards that were constantly outside his office pushed open the double doors with a smooth sliding noise and allowed a short but muscular wizard soldier to pass. The man had the clean-shaven head of a MagiNazi soldier and black robes to match but it didn't appear that he'd ever been in battle. If all went according to plan, though, that could change . . .

"You have news?" Grindelwald demanded.

"Yes, sir!" 

There was a moment's pause until finally Grindelwald rolled his eyes. "Well?" he snapped.

"I apologize, sir. I was merely await-"

"I don't care what you were doing. Get on with it!" Grindelwald growled, remarking to himself how lucky this soldier was that he was in a good mood. Otherwise, he probably would have had the man killed by now.

"Yes, sir. Muggle Nazi troops, under order of their leader Chancellor Adolph Hitler, have just commenced an invasion of Poland, sir," the soldier barked a little nervously, it sounded.

A thin, cruel smile cracked across Grindelwald's lips. This was just what he'd wanted to hear and it'd certainly taken long enough. It had been months since he'd last discussed the invasion plans with Hitler and he'd been under the impression that it would all have occurred much sooner. Grindelwald and his army had been ready for over a year now - they'd been all set to begin the war long before Hitler had even begun preparing - and the wait was on the verge of being intolerable. In fact Grindelwald had silently resolved that if nothing happened by the end of the month he would commence the attack himself, despite what he and Hitler had agreed. Now, though, that would be unnecessary. It was finally time to test his readiness in combat.

"Wait." Grindelwald said, pounding in his heavy boots over to his massive desk. It's shining ebony surface was clean except for a stack of parchments and an unrolled map, marked in red and black ink with lines, arrows, and circles. _If Hitler followed the plan, his army should be right about there_, Grindelwald thought while he traced a single arrow leading from Germany to Poland with a thin fingertip. _Perfect._

Still smiling, he sat down hastily and pulled a blank roll of high-quality, imported parchment and a brand-new, expensive quill from one of his highly organized drawers. With a sadistic chuckle, he began to write.

_Commander Grutz,_

The Muggle army has commenced invasion of Poland as planned. We have prepared well and the troops are in readiness. You have all the plans and information you require and have been merely awaiting my command. I now give it to you. Under my order, commence the invasion of Poland with the allied Muggle Nazi troops. 

- L. Grindelwald

With a flick of his slender wand the parchment tore, rolled, and sealed itself up, then flew into Grindelwald's eager hand. He, in turn, gave it briskly to the other wizard. "Find Commander Grutz immediately and inform him of what you told me, then hand him this ASAP. Be sure to give it to him directly," Grindelwald barked. The soldier nodded once in understanding. "When you've completed that, find my second-in-command, Albus Dumbledore, and give him my order that he report to me immediately."

"Yes sir. Right away, sir." The soldier barked.

"GO!"

"Yes, sir!" The soldier yelled, turning on his heel and darting out of the room with speed that would have made Hermes himself proud. Grindelwald, however, was unimpressed and decided that if he ever saw the man again, he would have him killed. 


	2. That Night: Sweet, Sweet Memories

**__**

Disclaimer and Summery: See first chapter.

****

AN: Here's the second chapter, written especially for you. This was a difficult one to write and I'm still not completely happy with it, but I really can't change it anymore without destroying the entire story. Anyway, it may seem a bit chaotic and confusing, for which I'm sorry, but all will become clear in later chapters. This is also mostly thought, almost no action, but the next chapters will make up for that, I promise. Also, I believe the first hints of AD/MM are buried below, if that interests anyone. The review response is at the end.

Now, I don't like pleading for reviews, but on this chapter especially I'd really appreciate some constructive criticism. As I said I'm not completely satisfied, so I'd love to learn what other people think I could do to change it. 

All that said, enjoy the chapter.

****

"That Night: Sweet, Sweet Memories"

__

"Nothing improves the memory more than trying to forget." ~Anonymous

The door to Albus Dumbledore's cramped apartment screeched angrily as it closed behind him, shutting him up in the dismal gray room. Taking off his heavy woolen cloak and draping it over one of the only two chairs in the room, he debated briefly about dinner but, as usual, his appetite was gone. Instead, he pulled the other wooden chair over to his window and dropped himself down. His back was to the bleak anti-color of his apartment - the empty, soot-stained fireplace; the bare, dusty mantel; the rickety dining table; the lonely bookshelves; and the completely barren, yellowing walls. With a noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh, he folded his arms across his chest and stared up at the smoggy sky.

"War," he said aloud. "War, war, war." He shook his head, repeating the word over and over again, trying to solidify it. But he couldn't make it real. Even during the planning, when he was arguing against it with Grindelwald, it wasn't real to him, mostly because he'd never expected any of the plans to reach this point. He'd assumed that Grindelwald and Hitler would just end up fighting each other before they could draw anyone else into it. It had been a completely reasonable assumption, of course, given their egotistical, conniving personalities; during meetings all they'd done was argue over where to invade and when and with what troops. It was amazing that they finally reached the shaky agreement that they had. Even that, though, Dumbledore hadn't expected to last long.

_Wrong again_, he thought bitterly, turning his attention back up to the sky. The yellowish haze had parted slightly, giving him a narrow glimpse of a single golden star. He sighed. How had all this happened? Just a few years back, at Hogwarts, he'd had a nearly perfect life: a wonderful job that he'd loved, great friends, a promising future. What had gone wrong? All he knew was that by the time he realized what a nightmare he was involved it, it had been too late. Now he was trapped.

Outside, the smog moved again, covering the lonely star like a dirty blanket.

At Hogwarts he'd almost always been able to see the stars, he remembered fondly. Some nights he would even trek down to the Great Hall long after everyone was -or was supposed to be- asleep just so that he could stare up at the charmed ceiling in solitude and lose himself in the clean, infinite black and sparkling diamonds above him. Everything was always so quiet and peaceful then - a great contrast to the rest of the time. And, though he loved his students dearly, he had to admit that he also loved the calm times without them, when he could simply be alone with his thoughts.

A few voices interrupted him from the street below. They were quiet, but gruff. Soldiers undoubtedly. Who else would be walking the streets after dark? It was either soldiers or fools. Dumbledore sighed and tried to ignore them, tried to imagine he was still back at the school.

The memory of Hogwarts brought a small, wistful smile to his lips and for a moment he felt a little brighter, even in his small gray room. However it didn't last long. It never did. Quickly, the happiness faded as usual and the darkness resettled in his dull blue eyes. It always happened like that. He would think of the past, of Hogwarts and his students, and he would be lively and full again. Then he would remember that he'd left and why and that he could never go back, and his own personal shadow swooped down like an owl and latched back onto his soul. This time, he felt a few stinging tears forming in his eyes, but he wiped them away before they had a chance to reach his sunken cheeks or dampen his robes. _There's no sense crying over it_, he told himself. It was over. Done. That was a chapter of his life that he'd closed, whether he liked it or not.

But the more he tried to forget, the more he couldn't help but to remember. It seemed that all the visions of those years came back to him quickly, laying siege on his dark mind: he saw the hallways in the moonlight, the students singing the school song, the staff decorating for the holidays, and even the house elves merrily polishing the trophies. Everything came back to him: the sights, smells, sounds, even tastes. 

Students' faces, twisted in concentration or scrunched up in laughter formed in his head. He wondered what had happened to all of them. Was he married? Did she have a good job? Where did this one live now, or that one? 

And Minerva, he thought, where was she now?

"No," he said aloud, startling himself. He took a deep breath and shook his head sadly. He couldn't let himself think about her; not after all they'd been through, all he'd done for her and all she'd done for him. He'd spent so much time with her, trained her to her fullest ability, become friends with her. She'd made his days lighter, showed him what he was missing. He was so proud of her, of all she'd done, that he couldn't even form the words to say it out loud. 

But now he'd let her down. He'd taught her to stand up for herself, to fight for what she believed in and not let anyone else control her future. He'd taught her not to let fear overtake her happiness and dreams. He'd told her that's how weak people were made, and he'd had her promise never to become weak. And now he'd gone and done exactly that. He'd given up his strength; he let fear dominate him. True, he'd fought for what he believed, but only to a point and only for so long. He could have done more, but now it was too late. He'd let her down.

However she wasn't the only student he'd ever made that speech to, and she probably didn't even remember it now. So why did he feel like he let her down? Most likely she wouldn't even recognize him anymore. After all, it had been a good few years since she graduated and even he would admit that he'd changed considerably. She'd probably moved on, forgotten all about her old professor. 

Yet why did he still feel like he'd betrayed her? He'd told many students the same things as he had her, but he didn't feel like he'd let them down, at least not as much. Why only her? Why always and only Minerva? He had no idea.

No, that was a lie. He knew perfectly well why it was only Minerva, why it was always only Minerva. Despite never daring to admit it to himself, he knew. And he knew it was why he would chastise himself for thinking of her then spend hours locked with her memories. It was why he heard her voice whenever someone spoke, her infectious chuckle whenever someone laughed. It was why her image was always in the corner of his eye, ready to dash away the second he turned his head. It was why he missed her more than all his other students combined. It was why it was always her, only her. It was because he-

"Over," Dumbledore said to himself quickly, shaking his head, "over, over, over." That part of his life was finished. He couldn't dwell on it any longer. He could never go back.

But he never wanted to go forward, either. _I hope she's safe_, he thought, unable to help himself, _and happy_. 

Sighing, he cast his eyes once more skyward then stood and conjured a hot cup of tea for himself. Sipping it cautiously, he went into his small bedroom and sat on the edge of his stiff mattress. It squeaked in protest of his weight as he finished his tea and took off his boots. Lying on his back on top of the covers, he tried to concentrate on matters of the present.

There was still the war that had begun. He had to focus on that now. Grindelwald and Hitler's alliance seemed to be lasting, at least for the time being. Dumbledore knew it wouldn't go on forever, though. Sooner or later, when there was nothing left to conquer, they would end up fighting each other. That was inevitable. It would be muggle against magic, Hitler against Grindelwald. And it would probably destroy whatever was left of the world by then. Either that or someone else would defeat them first.

"Ha," Dumbledore scoffed bitterly. "If there's a person alive capable of defeating Grindelwald, I'd like to meet him."

**__**

AN: Well, here I am again begging for someone to tell me how to improve this. I've honestly worked on it for days. I can't figure it out. But aside from that, I should probably mention that I'm going away for a few weeks so there won't be any updates for awhile. 

Chapter 1 Review Response:

****

Redwoman06: You see, Dumbledore's not evil. It'll become clearer later on exactly what's going on. I can't give away everything all at once, now can I ; ) Thanks for your review!


	3. January 1942: Subterfuge and a Snowstorm

**__**

Disclaimer and Summery: See first chapter.

****

AN: I'm really sorry this took so long. I went away and when I got home I just didn't feel like tackling the whole editing process, so it took awhile. It's still not completely up to par, but I'm a perfectionist. Anyway, I hope that it's worth the wait. As always, please review and tell me what you think. Review responses are at the bottom.

****

"January, 1942: Subterfuge and a Snowstorm"

__

"Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason" ~Oscar Wilde

"You pathetic waste of oxygen, stand up!" Grindelwald barked at the pale, cowering messenger on the floor before him. "Put a _shard_ of meaning into your worthless life and get Dumbledore in here now!"

"Y-yes, s-s-sir," the young man stammered, clambering clumsily to his feet and racing from the office like an antelope from the lion's den. Grindelwald watched him with his lip curled disgust, then glared down at the message in his hand. His eyes glinting dangerously, his neck muscles throbbing, he reread it.

"HOW DARE THEY!" He roared, shooting an irate red flame from the tip of his wand. It sped through the air and made contact with an exquisite, hand-carved oak side table -a priceless relic from times long dead- that promptly caught fire. Grindelwald watched it quiver in the murderous flames, then finally collapse onto itself until there was nothing left but a pile of chalky-gray ash. He took a deep breath and a tight, tortured smile twisted its way onto his lips.

A loud knock on his doors interrupted him just as he was about to incinerate another precious artifact, this one a regal armchair from the 16th century. "Enter."

Dumbledore walked in briskly, saluted, and approached Grindelwald. The pile of ash that had replaced the splendid oak table he'd coveted did not escape his notice, nor did the steel in Grindelwald's small, sharp eyes or the tension in his posture, but Dumbledore didn't comment on any of it. He knew better. 

"You wished to see me, sir?" Dumbledore prompted officially. Although he was in no particular hurry to hear the cause of Grindelwald's latest explosion, he knew it would probably be best to just get it over with. 

"Yes." Grindelwald turned on his heal and sliced through the room to his desk, where he sat stiffly, his back as straight as a broomstick. Dumbledore walked over and stood opposite Grindelwald, on the other side of the massive ebony creature. He couldn't take a place in either of the uncomfortable wooden chairs to either side of him until Grindelwald offered, and hospitality was, unfortunately, not among the wizard's virtues. On the up side, Dumbledore noted grimly, it was easier to dodge curses on one's feet.

Grindelwald stared at the polished black surface before him, refusing to acknowledge Dumbledore's presence any further and still clenching the offensive message between his bony fingers, as if by crushing that he could somehow eliminate his problem. His stormy eyes darted down to it once and a familiar scowl returned to his face. 

Strangely, Dumbledore felt a little relieved by the change in countenance. He was accustomed to seeing Grindelwald with a scowl; the smile he'd worn when they were standing by the former table was a bit unnerving. 

Slowly and methodically, with a deep breath through his thin nostrils, Grindelwald placed the letter on his desk and smoothed it out with his hands. "I have been informed that the British Ministry of Magic-" he spat the words like a curse "-has managed to implant spies in my city. Intelligence, with its customary idiocy, has no information as to how they found their way past my guards. With the wards I've set up apparition is impossible and I've made sure that every road in and out of here has sensors to detect any witches or wizards trying to flee my control. Naturally, I must assume that they had assistance from someone within our own party, otherwise they never would have made it as far as they did. You will appoint someone to find out who aided them. Of course such an offence is more than petty insubordination: it's treason. And that, in my opinion, is the worst crime imaginable." He paused for a moment and Dumbledore could practically see the nooses in his eyes. Not that Grindelwald would ever actually hang a man. No, that would be much too quick a death for his taste.

"However, how they arrived in my city is of little importance compared to the larger issue of what will be done about it. You will double the number of patrols and assign a dozen or so experienced officers to a search force, which will investigate any locations I feel necessary, on top of performing spontaneous searches of random locations. I would love nothing more than to catch this troupe of scoundrels off guard . . ." Grindelwald drifted off once more with another murderous glint in his metallic eyes. Dumbledore would have believed him, had he not already been so positive Grindelwald was no longer capable of love. 

"Unfortunately," Grindelwald said, coming back from his sadistic fantasies, "this leaves us in a rather uncomfortable position. With spies roaming around I am no longer as safe as I was. Any of them could spot me entering or leaving my home and then attack me when my guards are no longer present. This has to be dealt with immediately, and therefore I'm appointing ten more full-time guards to my personal entourage. As my second-in-command, you are also at risk, though not nearly as much as I. For that reason, five guards will accompany you throughout the building and then to your home at night. 

Dumbledore blinked, swallowed, and tried not to let his feelings appear on his face. There was absolutely, completely no doubt in his protesting mind that he could not allow any of Grindelwald's lackeys to disturb the only bit of his life he had left. He would be able to cope with toting a few of them around the office all day, but home was _his_. It was where he was allowed to be Albus Dumbledore, or at least what was left of Albus Dumbledore. It was where he could be alone to think and remember and wish and try to forget. It was where Grindelwald could fade away a little and allow other matters to surface.

But those were thoughts he could never voice to his superior. Instead, he would have to think of another reason, one that centered more on Grindelwald and less on himself. That was the only hope he had to retain any freedom at all.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" Dumbledore asked, feigning concern. Grindelwald shot him a suspicious glance, but nodded. "Are you sure a mere ten guards will be enough to ensure your personal safety all day long?"

"What do you mean?" Grindelwald jabbed, his icy eyes sending a nervous shiver down Dumbledore's neck. This had to work . . .

"I just mean, sir, that I'm not sure ten wizards are enough to protect you as securely as necessary. If anything happened to you, all our plans would be annihilated. Of course, you do know best . . ."

"It will be ten _extra_ men, Dumbledore. That makes fourteen in total. I believe that I shall be completely out of reach."

"Of course, sir. Whatever you think best."

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. "You doubt my safety?"

"Not doubt, sir. Your guards are very capable. I'm simply concerned that there may come a point where they will be unable to perform as well as necessary. If these spies have managed to sneak into your city they must be fairly well trained and-"

"Why, Dumbledore, this sudden display of concern for my well being?" Grindelwald asked sharply, his eyes narrowing. "I should think you wouldn't mind being rid of me."

Dumbledore swallowed, his breath catching in his throat. What could he say to that? He wasn't sure, but he knew his answer had to be perfect or . . . No, he didn't even want to think of that.

"Sir, I am concerned for your safety. We don't always see eye to eye," he began slowly and diplomatically, "but you are still my superior, therefore you will need all the guards you are able to have. Being such a prominent leader, you are obviously well known. There's not a wizard in Germany who wouldn't recognize you. I, on the other hand, am not that important. Most people don't even know I'm here or what position I hold. They wouldn't know me I walked straight into their houses and introduced myself. If I may, sir, I'd like to make a suggestion."

The newly-flattered Grindelwald now looked mildly intrigued, which was much more hopeful than murderously angry. Appealing to his ego, Dumbledore knew, had done the trick. Slowly, he nodded for Dumbledore to continue.

"Thank you, sir. My suggestion is that I have just a single guard accompany me throughout the day, but go home alone. If I travel everywhere with a troupe of bodyguards everyone is sure to think I'm important. Without those guards, I doubt they'll even know who I am. But you, on the other hand, are famous enough to be recognized anywhere, so I propose that you take the guards you would have given to me and use them for your own protection. You can never be too careful, sir."

Grindelwald was silent for a minute; Dumbledore held his breath.

"I am incredibly important, aren't I," Grindelwald said as he thought. It was more of a statement than a question, but Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. Then the older wizard's tone chilled again. "You wouldn't be trying to pull anything, would you Dumbledore?"

"No, sir. Of course not. What would I have to gain from giving you more protection?" Dumbledore said a little too hastily, but Grindelwald didn't seem to notice. They fell silent again, until:

"Yes, I suppose. Fine then. You'll have a guard during the day, but no one at night." He shot a glare at Dumbledore that would have made Salazar Slytherin himself quiver. "You best not be planning anything, Dumbledore, and after this you better pray that you're not captured. If you are, I'll simply have to assume you'd planned it all along, which would be desertion, would it not?" Dumbledore shivered and nodded. Grindelwald finished, "And we both know what will happen should you choose to desert me. Now you're dismissed." His voice could have sliced clean through diamond but that wasn't his most unnerving feature at the moment. It was his eyes, cold, small, and black as a shark's.

The hair on Dumbledore's arms prickled, and he started to leave as hastily as possible. Halfway to the door, however, just as he thought he was free, Grindelwald called to him, "And send in that little messenger boy that came to get you. I didn't quite finish with him." Dumbledore turned back and felt a chill run up his spine at the twisted smile that had returned to Grindelwald's lips.

"He headed off after he found me. I've no idea where he is now, sir," Dumbledore said, shaking his head apologetically. Grindelwald's shoulder's sagged, but only momentarily. Then, he pulled out his wand, aimed it at an ancient tapestry hanging on the wall, and burned the priceless, handmade artwork to nothing more than a ribbon of black dust along the floor. Dumbledore shuddered, but knew it was better the tapestry go than the child. Eager to get away, he made his hasty exit and headed down the halls to his own office.

There, in a chair opposite his desk was the messenger boy, who was really more a young man than a boy at all. He was popping candy in his mouth from a bag Dumbledore had given him earlier. He'd run into Dumbledore's office, still shaking from his encounter with Grindelwald and barely able to speak. Sweets had always calmed Dumbledore down, so he gave a package of them to the young man before leaving to meet Grindelwald.

"Thanks again for the candy, sir," the boy said, licking one of his fingertips.

Dumbledore smiled kindly, but quickly sobered. "You're welcome. Now, will you do me a favor, lad? As fast as you can without seeming suspicious, leave the building and don't ever come back. Stay away from here as much as you can. Take the sweets, just promise that you'll never come back."

The boy's eyes grew wide, like they had been earlier, but he saw that Dumbledore meant him no harm and nodded shakily. "Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he said, rising quickly to his feet and disappearing from the office. Dumbledore hoped to all the Gods ever worshipped that the man made it out safely. 

****

~*~*~*~

By the time Dumbledore pulled on his thick woolen cloak and made for the door, it had begun to snow out. Sighing a curse at the anti-apparition barriers set up all over the city, he pulled the hood up over his flaming hair and began to trek down the sidewalk. The snow was pure white, lending an illusion of cleanliness to the filthy streets, if only until morning. The large, wet flakes floated and twirled in the orange streetlamp glow, outdoing the most graceful ballerinas with their silent performance. They blurred the night sky, transforming the heavens into a swirling gray mass, infinite in its depth and expanse. Everyone seemed to be inside their homes, safe behind frosted windowpanes and soft snowdrifts.

Everyone except for Dumbledore, of course, who pulled his cloak tighter and quickened his pace. Steadily, the snow was becoming faster and denser, and it wouldn't have taken a Seer to predict a complete whiteout within the hour. The snowdrifts were starting to become snow banks and the visibility had already dropped significantly. Moisture was beginning to seep through his tired old boots, slowly numbing his toes until he couldn't feel his feet hitting the ground. Right then, he'd have given just about anything for a pair of nice, warm, wool socks, like the ones his house elves used to knit for him as a child.

He paused a moment and looked around him before turning the corner onto a smaller side street that would lead directly to his apartment building. He wondered if there really were spies near by, and how much they knew. Did they know Grindelwald was onto them? Had they found out about the messenger he'd wanted to kill? What about Dumbledore: Did they know who he was, or what position he held? Were they watching him right then? Dumbledore shuddered, but began walking. The idea of somebody watching him was, he had to admit, unsettling, but he wasn't about to start looking over his shoulder constantly and pulling out his wand at every sound. That would only make him look more suspicious to anyone who did happen to be watching. After Grindelwald's warning, he couldn't risk being caught any more than he could stand having those guards with him all night. 

The side street was darker than the main one, and Dumbledore had to slow his pace to a near crawl to move safely. The snowflakes had become miniature missiles all, it seemed, targeted directly at his eyes. It almost felt like he was traveling underwater, barely able to see in front of him and virtually unable to tell if he was still on course. Bowing his head so that the hood protected his pale, sunken face, he stared at the ground in front of him, looking up every few minutes to make certain he was still headed in the right direction. For the first time since he'd moved into his repulsive apartment three years ago, he actually wanted to be home.

"STUPEFY!"

Before Dumbledore could even see where the spell was coming from or attempt to dodge it he had been hit and had fallen, his mind as clean and empty as the snow beneath his face. He barely registered how cold it was, and the thought to get up never even occurred. Thankfully, though, someone else was more aware and a pair of large, muscular hands pulled him off the ground by the shoulders and set him on his feet. Then they began guiding him down the street, around a corner into a short, narrow alleyway, and through a nondescript metal door.

The snow, dumping down on earth like tons of cotton, filled in every last trace of the abduction within fifteen minutes.

**__**

Chapter 2 Review Responses:

****

Punky Toofster and **Redwoman**: Thanks for reviewing. I really appreciate it!

****

Laura Kay: I'm blushing. I'm really glad you liked this and my other fics. Thanks.

****

Hikari_Clow: Thanks a lot. I'm trying not to stress. ::frantically runs around room tearing her hair out:: Haha, just kidding. Thanks for reviewing.

****

petriebird18: Yep, our beloved Dumbledore really is Grindelwald's second-in-command, really has done something that would let Minerva down, and really can't return to Hogwarts. I'm glad I have you interested. Thanks.

****

Cranky Cauldron: Aww, your review made me smile so wide I think my head's about to split. Thanks so much. I'm glad you like the plot. I did try to make it unique. As for more MM . . . hmmm, wait and see. ::evil grin:: Thanks so much for reviewing!


	4. 30 Minutes Later: A Goddess in the Dark

__

Disclaimer: See First Chapter

AN: Ahh, another late update. I apologize again, but this time I have a legitimate excuse: homework. Blame my tardiness on my teachers. Reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading.

30 Minutes Later: A Goddess in the Dark

__

"Conscience is what hurts when everything else feels good." ~Anonymous

"Invigorate," a voice commanded. Immediately, Dumbledore's senses returned to him and he became aware of his surroundings for the first time. Where was he? Inside someplace, obviously, but it was far too dim to make out anything aside from the cement floor onto which he'd been dropped. Shadows held all the walls and the only light was coming from the single torch suspended in midair a few feet in front of him. His knees ached, his glasses were broken, and his nose was throbbing. He tasted blood on his upper lip and cautiously reached up to measure his injuries. His forehead and chin just felt scraped, but his nose-

"Broken, looks like to me," a gruff voice with a thick English accent chimed in from the darkness as Dumbledore squeezed the bridge of his nose, right below what was left of his spectacles, and winced sharply. He took a deep breath through his mouth and looked around, but the shadows held the speaker like a word hidden beneath a pool of ink. Slowly, Dumbledore climbed to his feet. The entire front of his cloak was soaked through, but the hood was still up over his hair. His pocket was empty, his wand gone. What had happened to him? He couldn't remember. The last thing he recalled was leaving Headquarters and his meeting with Grindelwald-

"You're the spies," he realized aloud, a numbing sort of shock rippling through his voice. _This can't be happening, it just can't. It can't, it can't, it can't_, his stunned mind repeated over and over again like an energetic parrot.

There were a few murmurs from the darkness around him, but all he could make out was a comment from behind him about his British accent, or, rather, his complete lack of a German one. 

"Who are you?" the same voice called, now sounding slightly confused and even more suspicious. Dumbledore thought for a moment about how to answer, but as his hood began to creep down, exposing a few locks of wet, tangled auburn hair, that decision was taken from him. A clear but young female voice from the darkness gasped and cried out, "Merlin's beard! Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore's looked as if he'd been stupefied again. His eyes appeared about ready to leap from his sockets and his jaw had all but hit the floor. For a second, he thought he'd been hearing things, an auditory hallucination of a comfort he wanted so desperately to hear in this stress. 

"Professor, is that you?" the same voice asked, breathless in the shadows.

He hadn't been imagining it. It had been real. That voice! That wonderful, confident, beautiful voice that he found so delightfully familiar echoed anew in his mind. He remembered it so well despite the years that had fled by since he'd last heard it. How many times had he listened to it in his thoughts and dreams? But to hear it again in real life . . . It was smooth as glass and it cut through his mind, tearing out memories and emotions he'd long ago hidden. 

"Miss McGonagall?" His voice was no more than a whisper, but it was more than audible in the tense silence of the room. He searched in the direction he thought her voice had come from, but could see nothing in the shadows. Taking a few steps forward, he peered closer. Sure enough, he saw a small movement and then a tall young witch stepped into the circle of torchlight. 

She was just as he'd remembered her, only more beautiful, if that were even possible. Her skin was a pale peach, now with two soft blushes blooming like roses on her cheeks. Her thin pink lips were parted in surprise and she was staring at him with her sharp eyes. As always, her long ebony hair was drawn into a tight bun at the back of her head, giving her an air of sophistication and authority far beyond her years. Dumbledore nearly collapsed. He'd never been one to go numb in the face of shock or danger, but right then he probably wouldn't even have noticed if the Cruciatus curse had been cast upon him. His tongue lolled disobediently around in his mouth, a petulant toddler refusing to form any coherent words, or even any coherent syllables.

"P-Professor, what are you doing here?" Minerva asked, her forehead crinkling up in disbelief. She took a step closer, peering at his wet robes and torn-up face as if trying to distinguish a mirage from a real oasis. 

"I believe, Miss McGonagall, that I've been captured. By you." He'd managed to trade control of his hands for control of his tongue, leaving his fingers to fidget and twitch at his sides. 

Minerva took a step closer, apparently still not satisfied that he was indeed the real thing. "I can't believe this . . ." she murmured, so that only he could hear.

"Neither can I. Neither can I," he replied weakly.

"Why they chose you, of all people . . ." Minerva was still staring at him as if he'd vanish any second like a dream upon waking.

Her comment made Dumbledore feel suddenly very heavy and old. "That's a long story," he said, sighing out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She looked at him quizzically, and he avoided her eyes like the expert that he was.

The shock of this wonderful reunion, while still prominent and numbing, was being pushed aside by something else, a cold, painful clenching of his stomach and chest. He'd been captured by spies and, in that one inadvertent action, sealed his fate. He knew that Grindelwald's threats hadn't been hollow. If there was one redeeming quality left in Lothar Grindelwald, it was that he was a man of his word. He would assume Dumbledore had committed treason or deserted him and then . . . he would get his revenge in the way he'd been threatening for over two years now.

And on top of all that, Minerva would find out all about him. Undoubtedly they'd run a background check, if for no other reason than formality, and they'd probably turn up everything, or at least enough for them to logically fill in the blanks. Minerva would learn what had become of her mentor, the cowardliness he'd displayed, and she'd be disappointed and betrayed, ashamed of him. _As well she should be_, he thought darkly.

"Come on. We have things to do. We don't have time to deal with him just yet. We can put him in the cell for now," the voice that had been speaking to him before said, now from directly behind him. Dumbledore didn't spin around. He couldn't take his eyes off Minerva. 

"We don't have to put him in the cell," she said, looking at someone over Dumbledore's shoulder. "He'll be fine. I'll stay with him."

"We can't, Bast. We need you. Besides, we've been ordered to hold anyone we capture securely, just in case. Come on, Dumbledore, is it?"

Dumbledore nodded and a strong hand clamped onto his shoulder. He felt the narrow poke of a wand being pressed into his spine. Another man stepped out of the darkness and grabbed the torch that was floating above Dumbledore's head. They turned, and Minerva began to protest again, but Dumbledore shook his head and attempted a weak smile. Reluctantly, she tapered to a stop. The man in front of Dumbledore, a huge, burly wizard at least Dumbledore's height and twice his width -all of him seeming to be extremely large muscles- led them down a hallway, leaving the room they'd just been in to the shadows. Minerva could be heard faintly behind them, talking to what sounded like another witch. Dumbledore couldn't make out any words. 

"Do you're the infamous Dumbledore, eh?" The man with the torch said in a lilting Irish accent. Dumbledore muttered something to the affirmative and the man continued, "Bast there's told us a lot about you, old man. Really admires you, she does. Or did. Wonder what she'll be thinking when she learns you've been going in and out of Grindelwald's Headquarters for days. We haven't had time to fill her in on that just yet. So, you work for him, do ya, old man? _My, my _she'll be upset."

Dumbledore felt what was left of his usual color drain from his face. He knew the man was just taunting him, but it was obvious that they knew something was going on between him and Grindelwald. And Minerva, apparently, had no idea. Yet.

"Shut up, Stripes. We're here," the man behind him said.

"Just tellin' him the truth, Judge," the man dubbed "Stripes" replied, giving Dumbledore a wide, unpleasant grin and opening the cell door. Dumbledore stepped into the dark room, took the torch, and watched the door close and lock him in. 

Dumbledore waved the torch around, getting a feel for the new room. It was tiny, to say the least, with a low ceiling and rough stone walls. A narrow cot, which actually resembled the bed he had in his apartment, was pushed against the far wall. On top of it was a flat pillow and what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable brown wool blanket. Next to the door was a small table barely large enough to hold a few belongings, not that Dumbledore had any for it at the moment. An iron ring was sticking out from the wall and Dumbledore hung his torch there before going to sit down. Just like home, the cot squealed noisily in protest of his weight.

Staring at the opposite wall, Dumbledore began to think all this through. He still couldn't believe this bittersweet luck. He'd been caught by spies, which was bad enough, but _she_ was among them, making it better but, at the same time, making it worse. His head was spinning. His nose still throbbed and his wet robes were sticking to his body, freezing his skin. 

Shivering, he pushed his back up against the wall and pulled the blanket over him in a futile attempt to keep warm. _Might as well make myself as comfortable as I can now, he thought, Because as soon as my captors come back, that option's going to disappear._

Dumbledore groaned loudly and let his head fall back against the wall. What was going to happen to him next? They obviously already knew who he was, or they would find out soon enough, now that they knew his name and a large portion of his history. Would they come back to torture him for information? Should he just give in, not let them bother? 

And what about Minerva? What was she thinking now? Did they tell her of their suspicions yet? Would they wait? He sighed heavily, tossing his thoughts around in his head. Part of him didn't want her to know, didn't want her to find out about him and be disappointed and embarrassed. But the other part of him knew that she had a right to know it all. He only wished that he could be the one to tell her. He wanted her to know his version of the story; the truth before it became polluted with facts. He sighed again, falling deep into his dark thoughts.

Some time later, a gentle knock came at the door and he heard the metallic click of it being unlocked.

"Professor, may I?" Minerva asked, pushing open the door a little and poking her head into the room.

"Of course, Miss McGonagall, but I'm not your professor anymore. Call me Albus." He waved her into the room, his thoughts still spinning. The door closed behind her with a _thud_, and she balanced the tray she was carrying on the tiny table.

"I thought you'd be hungry," she explained, her eyes going everywhere but up to his. "Sorry, we're out of tea. I brought hot chocolate instead. Here are some spare robes and some water for you to clean up with. I found a bandage for your nose, too."

"Thank you," he said, smiling gratefully. She returned the expression softly and handed him a towel and a metal bowl filled halfway with warm water. Gently, he wiped the dried blood out of his mustache and off his nose, then took the bandage and held it in place while Minerva taped it down as tenderly as she could. With that done, she took out her wand and healed his minor abrasions.

"I'll wait outside while you change," she said, handing him the robes and vanishing from the room. Quickly, he slid out of his soaking clothes and into the dry set, then called her back in.

"You've lost a lot of weight," she observed. Albus almost smiled at the familiar thoughtful crinkle on her forehead.

"I haven't led the healthiest of lifestyles," Albus said euphemistically. He slid over and she sat beside him on the cot, staring at the embroidered cuffs of her robe. "You seem a bit shell-shocked, Miss McGonagall."

She looked up suddenly into his eyes and a smile broke through the numb expression she'd worn thus far. A soft chuckle fled her lips. "Well, I suppose I am," she agreed. "I . . . I just never expected to see you here. I'm sorry about what happened," she added hastily. "I'm sure you'll be released tomorrow. Judge and Gem just have to check your information, but that should be over soon."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. _This is the moment of truth_, he thought. Should he tell her? He wanted to so badly. But Grindelwald . . . if he ever found out, they'd all be dead. Of course, if his background was being checked, chances are Minerva would find out anyway. By what that wizard Stripes had said earlier, they already had a pretty good clue as to what was going on. And Dumbledore would rather Minerva heard it from him than someone else. He took a deep breath. 

"I'm not so certain, Miss McGonagall," he said heavily. She looked puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have time to hear a long story?"

__

Review Responses:

****

Cranky Cauldron: Thank you sooooooo much!! I'm flattered that you think I'm such a good writer and thrilled that you love the story! Thanks for reviewing!

****

Inca: Haha, good guess you had there. Thanks for reviewing.

****

Jestana: I hope this chapter kept your interest as well. Thanks a lot.


	5. A Minute Later: Listen, My Children, and...

**__**

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

****

AN: Ok, it's been awhile. I'm horrible with updates. I apologize. But this should be a good chapter; it's the one that answers most, if not all, of your questions. Enjoy.

****

A Minute Later: Listen, My Children, and You Shall Hear . . .

__

"The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves." ~Sophocles

Dumbledore looked at Minerva thoughtfully. She was waiting, he knew, but he wasn't ready yet. He had to find just the right words, just the right beginning, to tell her the story he should have told her years before.

"Albus, we have time," she said gently, sensing his hesitation. She summoned the twin mugs of hot chocolate to her and handed one to him. He wrapped his long fingers around it, absorbing the heat into his frigid body.

He took a sip, then a deep breath, and began, "Miss McGonagall-"

"Please, Albus, call me Minerva. I'm not in school any more."

"No, you're not. Minerva, then, I'm afraid that there's something about myself that I never told you, and I should have." Another deep breath. "I'm sure it'll come as a rather large shock, and I've no doubts that by the end, you will not be happy, but please listen to the full story before you leave. I need to tell you," Albus said, staring into his drink.

"Of course," Minerva answered, though her voice had become a little unsteady in the tense air between them.

He paused a moment, thinking up and discarding opening sentences. Finally, he decided just to get on with it. He began, "When I was a student, my seventh year, I had it in my mind to become an Auror, just as you did. Of course I studied every book I could find, but that just wasn't the same as real practice. In theory I knew everything, but I didn't have any of the practical skills I'd need. My Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the time suggested I attempt to contact a working Auror and set up a meeting. Eagerly, I followed his advice and wrote to the Ministry of Magic. A short while later I received a reply from a middle-aged Auror named Lothar Grindelwald," Dumbledore said, never looking up. 

"Naturally, I was excited and we set up a meeting. His power and skill amazed me. It seemed he knew every spell ever cast. He was an adept teacher and he trained me well; by the next year I had become a certified Auror, working for the Ministry. He pulled some strings somewhere and had me assigned to his company. We became close friends. I daresay he was even like a second father to me. We worked together for years, very successfully, until around 1870. That's when, as you may recall from Professor Binns' class-"

"The Arctic Coast Sorcerers Society," Minerva interjected. Dumbledore smiled a bit in spite of himself. Trust Minerva to recall that one incident in thousands of years of magical history.

"Exactly. That's when that guild of wizards in the north first started to cause problems. They were only minor, but needed to be dealt with before they escalated. The Ministry sent Grindelwald, his son Ivan who was also an Auror with us, and I up to return the area to safety. 

"It was during what had begun as a simple battle that everything changed. Someone tried to hit me with the Killing Curse, and would have succeeded had Grindelwald not pushed me out of the way. Unfortunately, instead of hitting me, it hit his son in the back. Ivan was dead before he hit the ground," Dumbledore paused a moment, staring at his hot chocolate and letting everything sink in.

"We still managed to win the battle, though just barely. After that day, Grindelwald was changed. I assumed it was just his grief, but in hindsight I realize that that's when he snapped. He had always been temperamental and aggressive, but never so much as after Ivan's death. 

"However, as is often the case, I didn't notice it then, and soon after I quit the Ministry and took a job at Hogwarts as a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Grindelwald stopped communicating with me, but I heard that he'd quit shortly after I had, following a rather suspicious death at the Ministry. I believed that to be just rumor, along with the other tales I heard throughout my years teaching. Naively, I believed that Grindelwald could never have done those things. I thought he was the Grindelwald I'd looked up to, the Grindelwald who'd trained me well. But he wasn't. That man no longer existed. He'd died on that battlefield, just as Ivan did. I only wish I knew that . . ." Dumbledore shook his head sadly and hazarded a glance to Minerva. She looked absolutely pale. "Minerva, are you all right?"

"I'm- yes, just continue." 

"This is the part that will be hardest to tell you, but I'll do my best. As you well know, I became the Transfiguration teacher and held that position for many years. I truly loved that job. Now and then I'd hear a story about Grindelwald, all of them negative, but as I said, I never believed them. I thought them all to be stemmed from that first, vicious rumor that had cost him his job. I received a few letters from him over the years, but we'd lost most contact. 

"Until 1939, that is. That's when he sent me a letter, wishing to see me again, for old time's sake. Naturally, I agreed. To me, he was just an old, lost friend. I came up here to Germany and after spending a few days with him, I began to realize that the rumors I'd heard over the years were more than likely truth. He was not only aggressive and temperamental, but he'd become cruel and genuinely sadistic. I was eager to go home, but the day before I left he called me into his study and told me something that changed my plans, and most certainly my life. He said that he'd formed an alliance with the German chancellor, Hitler. They had similar goals and had decided it was best if they worked together to achieve them. Both craved power, and were planning to invade Poland. Grindelwald wanted me to be his second-in-command." 

Minerva gasped loudly. "But of course you didn't accept, Albus!" Dumbledore hesitated and Minerva was always one to catch on quickly. Her mug dropped to the floor and shattered into a million pieces on the chilly stone. "Dumbledore . . . how could you?" She exclaimed. Dumbledore didn't need to look up to see the shock in her eyes or foreboding tremble in her chin; he could hear them both in her voice. Earlier, out in the snow, he'd thought he couldn't have felt any worse. Now he knew he'd been wrong. Sitting next to her, listening to shocked, betrayed voice and knowing he'd caused every tear that was struggling to free itself from her control and make its silent way down her cheeks was the worst form of torture anyone could have used.

Despite the sick feeling in his stomach and heart, he knew he had to finish his story. He had said too much to stop now. "I didn't want to, Minerva. Believe me, I didn't want to. At first, I did refuse. Adamantly, I said no. Over and over again. But he'd been watching me, and he knew my weaknesses. He told me that if I didn't join him, he'd destroy everything I loved. Hogwarts, my family home, my cousins and nieces and nephews, my students, and my life, he threatened. I couldn't refuse him. I have no doubts that he would have destroyed them all in the worst, most painful way possible had I continued to say turn him down. And I'm sure that he will do so if I ever attempt to leave him. He's told so many times, so many that I can't even keep track." 

"But you could have fought! You're so powerful," Minerva exclaimed, rising to her feet, hesitating a moment, then sitting back down, unable to do anything else.

"He is much more powerful than I am. He's the man who taught me all I know. I wouldn't have won, and after he'd finished with me, he'd move on to fulfill his other threats. He's insane, Minerva. Irrational and psychotic. I could find no other choice but to give in to his request. I regret every day I spend with him, but it's better than causing the destruction of everything I love," Dumbledore tried to explain, almost pleading with her not to hate him. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I betrayed you, I know, and every student I've ever had. I taught you all to be strong and fight for your beliefs, and I regret not doing so myself." He took a deep breath and set the mug on the floor, then rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with his hands, then he said, "I've told you everything, so you may go if you'd like."

Silently, her nose twitching, Minerva stood and hurried from the room without so much as a glance back. The lock snapped in place behind her. Dumbledore sighed and stared at the door for what seemed like an eternity. In his heart, he'd secretly hoped she wouldn't have left. 

But that was just his foolish, irrational side taking over. After what he'd confessed to her, he should have expected it. He did expect it, at least to a point.

But now that she was gone, the doubts began to take her place. Should he have told her all that? Yes, he answered himself firmly. She would've heard it anyway, and she deserved to hear it from him.

With a sigh, Dumbledore finally accepted the fact that she wasn't coming back and tore his eyes from the door. He lay back on his cot, stared at the ceiling, and let the warm tears of failure and embarrassment cloud his eyes.

__

Review Responses:

**__**

Lady Mireille : Hmmm, too sentimental. Yes, I can see where you're coming from. Dumbledore always struck me as a very sentimental character, though, but perhaps I'm overdoing it. I'll think about that. Thanks for reading!

****

Anarchist Girl: Hey there. I didn't expect you to read this. I'm glad you liked it, though. As for the RHPS fic . . . I'll look at it and see what I can do.


	6. An Hour Later: Wrath of the Tiger

__

Disclaimer: See first chapter

AN: Ok, incredibly late. You probably don't even remember what's going on. Sorry about that. I've decided to set deadlines for myself. Expect the next chapter in a week. Review responses at the end. Enjoy.

****

An Hour Later: Wrath of the Tiger

__

"Adversity is the first path to truth." ~George Gordon Byron, Don Juan

Dumbledore's tears ended quickly, leaving their salty corpses behind to form crusts around his eyes. He didn't move to wipe them away - or to do anything else for that matter. His arms folded over his chest, his legs straight, he lay perfectly still on his cot, staring at the ceiling with his glazed over, red-rimmed eyes.

At first, all he could think of was Minerva. Why had he told her all he had? What did she think of him now? Was she angry? Upset? Betrayed, confused, disappointed?

_All of the above_, he thought grimly. But he'd had to tell her. She would have found out anyway, and at least now she knew his side of the story - that he didn't want to be where he was, but that he'd had no choice. It wasn't as though he enjoyed his job, only that the alternative was far, far worse. There was no way he could have refused Grindelwald. Dumbledore just hoped Minerva believed him.

He sucked in a deep breath, wondered why he even bothered anymore, and let it out. An icy emptiness was growing in his chest, making everything he saw dark and everything he thought painful. It had been there since he came to Germany, but within the past few hours, it stretched out, taking over his heart and then his stomach, until his entire body was empty and cold.

Outside his cell, loud footsteps were running down the hall, distracting him, for the moment, from his self-loathing. He could hear them stomping quickly in his direction. Minerva must have told them, and now they were coming to drag him up there. Would they torture him to make sure he'd been telling the truth? Or would they simply kill him, just get it over with? He took a deep breath as the lock banged back and his door was flung open.

Stripes shot into the room and, before Dumbledore could even react, pulled him to his feet and flung him against the dirt wall. With a muscular forearm to Dumbledore's throat, Stripes pinned him there, using his free hand to point a wand at the elder wizard's stomach. Dumbledore gasped, but didn't fight back. He could see the storms brewing in the other man's brown eyes and feel the angry tremble in his powerful young muscles.

"You bastard!" Stripes yelled, his hot breath assailing Dumbledore's cheek while his wand dug further into his side. Dumbledore pressed himself against the wall to keep the wand from piercing his stomach. Minerva must have told them all and they'd elected Stripes for the confrontation. It seemed that they'd made a good choice. But Dumbledore wondered whether to resist or just give it all up right then. "What did you do to her? I swear I'll kill you if you so much as -"

"Stripes! What are you doing?" It was Minerva in the doorway, an angry blush rising to paint her cheeks. "Let go of him!" She shrieked, rushing over and prying the men apart. With her hands clenched into fists on her hips, she stood as a barrier between them. Stripes didn't look any less angry, and he was glaring at Dumbledore over her head, but he made no move forward. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? Are you insane?" Minerva was yelling, startling both the wizards in the room. Dumbledore had seen her angry before, but never like this. In a way, he almost felt bad for his assailant. "You _cannot_ treat people like that! Do you want to be like our enemies? Now go!"

Shooting a final dangerous look at Dumbledore, he obeyed and left the cell. Minerva spun on her heel in a way that reminded him eerily of Grindelwald, and he braced himself for whatever could be left of her temper. However, upon looking up at him, her face softened and her hands unclenched and dropped to her sides. "Are you all right?"

Dumbledore nodded, giving her a small smile. "Thanks to you."

Minerva shook her head dismissively. "He was just angry and over-protective. He wouldn't have really hurt you. It's all show; he's harmless."

Dumbledore was willing to contest that point, but he didn't want to make her angry again. He wasn't quite afraid of her temper - though it was a factor - but he didn't want to risk her to storm out on him. Instead, he tried to draw out the pointless conversation a bit longer. However, he couldn't think of anything at all to say.

Her eyes were wandering around awkwardly, still avidly avoiding his and after a brief silence, they settled on the tray she'd brought in earlier. "You haven't eaten."

"I haven't had much of an appetite." Awkward tension was beginning to refill the room like the smoky warmth from the torch, and he was beginning to fear it would suffocate them both.

"You're even thinner than you were at school. You need to eat." Minerva relaxed into the authoritative caretaker role, which was an act she played extremely well - a reason why Dumbledore had always thought she'd make an excellent teacher. Quickly, she heated up his food with a simple spell and set it down on his cot. Not daring to defy her in this mood, Dumbledore picked up his utensils and cleared the plate while she stood by and watched. When he was through, she waved her wand and the tray vanished, leaving room on the cot for her to sit next to Dumbledore, which she did stiffly and much to his surprise. She barely even seemed angry anymore.

A thick silence grew, and Dumbledore tried to think of a way to break it. Minerva, though, was one step ahead of him. Quickly, she blurted, "I'm sorry for running out on you." She turned her head down, studying her feet.

Dumbledore nodded. "It's quite understandable, Minerva. Don't apologize. You let me tell my story, and for that I'm immensely grateful."

"I was just . . . shocked, I suppose. I still am, really." She chuckled awkwardly.

"Again, understandable. I would be also, in your position." He brought a hand up to massage his still sore neck while he thought. Finally, he continued. "I want to apologize for telling you so suddenly, and so late, but I couldn't hide it from you any longer. The only reason I ever kept it a secret in the first place was because of Grindelwald's threat. Now, though, it's too late." He felt the heavy darkness descend over him once more.

Minerva looked up and crinkled an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore sighed. He might as well tell her. He'd already told her everything else. "When I don't return to work tomorrow, Grindelwald will assume I've fled him. He told me so today. And if I flee, he destroys it all . . ."

Minerva's jaw dropped. "He can't do that!"

"I'm afraid he can, Minerva. And he will. I'm sure of it." Dumbledore swallowed hard. So far, he'd been able to avoid the feeling of inevitable doom that went along with his situation, but now it was catching up to him quickly. He ran his hands over his face and clawed through his already mussed auburn hair.

"But Hogwarts . . . and your family! He can't just destroy them all!" Minerva leapt to her feet. "We have to protect them." Her voice was trembling.

"How?" Dumbledore asked hopelessly. "I can't think of a single person alive who could protect them." His head dropped to his hands again.

"I know someone," Minerva said stubbornly.

Dumbledore looked up, somewhat startled to find her eyes pinned on him. "Who?"

"Merlin, Albus! What is wrong with you? I'm talking about _you,_ of course!" She was obviously becoming exasperated.

"Minerva, I can't. I'm sorry. I'm just not strong enough. He has so much more power than I do. I'd never be able to defeat him and he'd just make everyone's death all the more painful for my even trying." Dumbledore hated the pleading tone in his voice almost as much as he hated to tell her "no," but he had to make her understand. He wasn't the superman she thought he was. He couldn't do everything and he sure as hell couldn't do this.

"Are you completely insane? You are the most powerful wizard I've met. How can you just sit back and accept this? The Dumbledore I knew would _never_ have given up without a fight!" Her whole body was trembling now, and he could see that she was close to tears.

"I couldn't fight even if I wanted to. I've been taken captive remember? By _you_!" Dumbledore stood defensively. Her comment about the man he used to be had cut too close to the bone for him to sit back passively.

"Yes, by me. Which means I can get you out! Why are you being so damn thick, Dumbledore? You can destroy him before he harms anything else. I know you can!"

"No, Minerva, I can't! You don't know the strength he has. You haven't seen it first hand for years. _I have_! He is the most dangerously powerful wizard I've ever laid eyes on, without a doubt. It's too late now, Minerva. It's as good as over."

"No it is not! You still have a chance. A good one, at that. I know you, Albus Dumbledore. I've met many wizards and witches and you are the greatest of them all. Your only problem is that you're so bloody dense you can't see that for yourself!" Minerva was yelling now, and the angry blush was back to her face.

"Minerva, you don't understand! If I go, I will lose the battle. _But it won't be over_. He'll dismantle Hogwarts stone by stone, force the most horrible deaths he can possibly come up with onto the staff _and the students_. Then he'll go after my family, killing them off one by one and erasing every mention of the Dumbledore name. Then there's you, Minerva. He'll come for you and all your friends. He will make you wish you were dead, wish you were never even born in the first place. He will destroy your world bit by bit and when he finally grows bored and decides to kill you, _you'll be thankful_. I can't cause that to happen, Minerva. Not to Hogwarts, not to my family, and especially not to you." Dumbledore dropped back down to the cot. Minerva, for a moment, was speechless. Her cheeks had paled slightly and there was a peculiar brightness in her eyes.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer. "But you said all that would happen anyway."

"He will destroy Hogwarts" at this, Minerva flinched "and will do his best to get rid of my immediate family, but it will be quick and painless. He probably won't kill the staff, or at least not everyone, and most of the students should be safe. My family may suffer, but not all of it. The bloodline will continue on. And no harm will come to you or any of your friends." He took a deep breath. "I know that this is still horrible, but it's best it can be. It's the only way left, Minerva. I'm sorry."

Minerva nodded and wiped at her eyes. Her trembling had stopped, but she was still obviously upset. A deep, steadying breath seemed to help her and after a moment of heavy silence, she said, "Maybe there is still time, Albus. I have to try something. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Minerva, wait," Albus called as she started out the door. She turned around and met his eyes solidly, as if daring him to try and stop her. He wasn't about to; he knew better than that. Instead, he issued a rather hypocritical warning. "Don't do anything foolish."

She looked at him for a moment, and then said, with half a smile, "I believe you've done enough foolish things to cover us both for years, Albus." 

__

Review Responses:

mascaret: Thanks for the review.

Holly: I'm glad you like my interpretation of Dumbledore. I like to see him as an actual human, with faults and feelings and I'm thrilled that you agree. Thanks for the review.

GEM8: Haha, keeping your attention. That is, before I didn't post for about a month, right? Thanks for taking the time to review!

Kemenran: Glad you like it. Thanks for the review.

Cranky Cauldron: I'm sorry that you were disappointed. I can see where you're coming from. After I read your review I examined the plot a little closer and, I have to admit, thought up a few better alternatives than the story I came up with. I don't like the go back and change chapters, though, so I'll probably work them into another fic or maybe into this one later on. I'm glad you liked the backstory and that you haven't been completely turned off the fic. Thanks a lot for the criticism. I needed it (and still do), so don't be shy.

Freelancer: It's great that you love the fic this much. Haha, I love his name too. It's a form of Luther, which happens to mean "renowned warrior." The great thing about HP fics is that I can use names like that without it sounding completely stupid. Anyway, I'm happy you liked it. Thanks for the review.

petriebird18: Haha, a little excited, are we. Yay. I like enthusiasm. Thanks for the review.


	7. 15 Minutes Later: Catfight

__

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AN: Oh wow, it's up on time! Can you believe this? I know I can't! Anyway, enjoy.

****

Fifteen Minutes Later: Catfight

__

"Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart, that if believed Had blessed one's life with true believing." ~Frances Anne Kemble

About fifteen minutes later, Minerva burst back into the cell. Her lips were pressed into a thin pink line, her cheeks flushed light red. "Get your robes and whatever you came in with. You're leaving," she ordered immediately. 

Dumbledore just stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I said that you're leaving. Hurry, though, we don't have all night." She grabbed his wet robes from the table and murmured a short drying spell. "You should probably change back into these. Be quick about it." She started to toss him his robes, just as the sound of running footsteps began to pound through the hall. "Damn," she spat, dropping the robes to the floor and spinning to face the door. 

A second later, it was flung open again and in rushed Stripes, Judge, and a petite witch with long, straight blond hair. Both of the men were yelling at once, mostly at Minerva, while the other witch stood off to the right, her hard eyes darting from face to face. Minerva crossed her arms defiantly over her chest and stood her ground firmly, glaring at each one in turn.

"Bast, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You can't let him out!"

"Have you lost your bloody mind!"

"You can't do this!"

"We captured him! He _works with Grindelwald!_ You can't let him go!"

"He's lying to you, and you're falling right into it!"

"There's no way-"

"Both of you stop!" Minerva yelled. "I know what I'm doing! _We can't keep him here_. I told you what'll happen if we do!"

"Bast, we can't just _let him go_! You said yourself that he's Grindelwald's second-in-command," Judge shouted.

"That's exactly _why_ we have to let him go. If we don't, you know the destruction Grindelwald will cause? I couldn't live with myself if he killed so much as one person because of us." Minerva's arms were still folded across her chest, her hands clenched into tight fists, and from where he stood behind her, Dumbledore could see the tension holding her back and neck ramrod straight. He wanted so badly to say something, but rising to his own defense was a waste of breath and Minerva seemed to be holding her ground rather well, especially against two angry wizards twice her size. So, Dumbledore decided, this was a time it was best to let someone else do the talking.

"How do you know he's not lying, Bast?" Stripes asked, switching gears from enraged to patronizing - a mistake if Dumbledore had ever seen one. Minerva was shooting venomous spikes out of her beautiful green eyes, but somehow Stripes didn't seem to notice, or he chose poorly to ignore it - another huge mistake. Without even acknowledging her glare, he continued, "I mean, think about it _rationally_ for a minute. He's obviously lied to you before. Why wouldn't he do it again?"

Dumbledore stepped over to Minerva's side, hazarding a glance in her direction. She looked positively irate - her cheeks were red, her hands trembling, and her eyes as cold and hard as the blade of a sword. He couldn't remember ever seeing her that angry, and he wasn't too excited to find out what she'd do next. The look on her face resembled something between a lion about to pounce on its prey and a snake rearing back to strike. Hoping he wouldn't become the next victim, Dumbledore decided it was time to speak up. "I'm not lying. Why would I bother after all I've already told you?"

Somehow, Stripes didn't see Minerva's deadly glare as something to be concerned about, and turned to look Dumbledore straight in the eye. "Because now you see a path to freedom, old man." He turned back to Minerva, "Bast, why can't you see what he really is? He's _lying to you_, tricking you, and you're falling for it blindly. He's not a good man - he's just not. He's a cold, calculating-"

"Shut the hell up, Stripes." Minerva's voice was dangerously hard and sharp, like a shard of broken glass, and when she took a threatening step towards Stripes, even he had the presence of mind to look a little nervous. Dumbledore, though he didn't move away, was thoroughly shocked, and more than a little unnerved. He'd expected an explosion, but he'd gotten the exact opposite. He'd never heard her sound so cold. "How dare you tell me what kind of man Albus Dumbledore is," Minerva seethed. "You don't know him at all, Stripes; you have no bloody idea!" Her voice was beginning to rise, shifting into the irate tone that would have made her namesake proud. "He is the most caring, compassionate wizard I've ever met - _present company included _- and you of all people have no right to criticize him!"

"Bast, calm down," Gem said from off to the side. It was the first time Dumbledore had ever heard her speak, and for a moment, he almost thought he recognized her voice from somewhere. Before he could place it, though, Minerva took a step back and began to speak again, still staring straight at Stripes, but now talking to the rest of them.

"We must let him go. I know that none of you believe him, or me, but you have to have a little faith."

"Why? So that he can get out of here and go running to Grindelwald, giving away everything? No! We can't let him," Stripes countered, his eyes locked with Minerva's in a death-stare.

"I can't do that," Dumbledore said simply. "Grindelwald is anything but sane. If I tell him your location, he'll accuse me of consorting with you and murder us all, along with countless others."

"Which is why we need to get you out of here quickly," Minerva said. "If he finds out we've caught you, it's over for all of us."

"I don't believe him," Stripes said defiantly.

"Can we really risk it, though?" Judge spoke up for the first time since the beginning of the argument. "If he's telling the truth, dozens of people could die before we even get a warning to back to the Ministry."

"How do we know he won't just tell Grindelwald the entire thing tomorrow? How do we know he's not completely lying?"

"We don't," Gem said. "But I believe him, or at least most of it. We've all studied Grindelwald and we know that he's maniacal and paranoid. He's killed messengers just for bringing him bad news. I really don't doubt that he'd kill him, too,-" she nodded her head toward Dumbledore "-just to be on the safe side."

"This is the worst idea I've ever heard." Stripes stood his ground.

"Yes, probably, but we can't chance being wrong," Gem reasoned.

"We need to hurry," Minerva reminded them sharply.

"I don't trust him at all."

"Stripes, I know. We all know. But I also know that he can't say nor do anything. Grindelwald will have him killed. You don't have to trust him, _but at least trust me_. I know what I'm doing." Minerva looked at all of them in turn. Another silence hung in the air.

It wasn't broken.

Finally, Minerva spoke up again. "Well?"

"I don't like it, but I don't see as we have much choice. There's no way we could get word back to England in enough time to protect Hogwarts and everyone if Dumbledore here's telling the truth. I'd hate to see anyone die because of me," Judge said. "And I have a feeling that you're going to end up doing what you want regardless of what we decide, Bast, so we'd best just go along with it."

"I have to agree," Gem said. They all looked at Stripes. "Do you have anything to say?"

"You're all fools, and I'll have no part of it," he grumbled, then turned on his heal and marched from the cell.

"All right, then," Minerva said shortly and turned back to Dumbledore, wasting no more time. "You'll need to change back into your old robes. We'll be waiting for you in the hall." She picked his robes off the floor, where she had thrown them in anger, and the four of them left the room. Dumbledore changed quickly, then met them outside his door. 

"Bast'll see you out. We have work to do," Judge said, then left with Gem.

Minerva took the lead down the passage, using her wand for light. They emerged in the large room that Dumbledore had first seen and made their way over to the door. There, Minerva gave Dumbledore back his own wand. It felt surprisingly good in his hands. 

"I hope the snow's slowed down," Minerva said.

"Yes, me too," Dumbledore nodded. He paused for a few seconds. This still felt so surreal. "Thank you, Minerva."

She smiled, but it faded quickly. "Be careful, please."

"I'll try my best."

Then, she did something completely un-Minerva-ish. She closed the gap between them and flung her arms around his neck, holding on tightly. For a moment he just stood there, unsure of how to react, until his arms found their way around her waist. Gently, he placed a small peck to the top of her head and let his eyes fall closed, savoring the bittersweet moment. How many times had he wanted to hold her like this, and yet why did it finally have to happen under such circumstances? He couldn't tell whether he wanted to smile or cry, because while that hug was so much, he still wanted more. 

But this was all he would have. 

All he could have.

"Albus, you know that I'll believe you and trust you always, no matter what, so promise me something."

"Anything." It frightened him a little that he was so eager with that answer, and even more so because he knew that it was true - he really would do anything she asked.

"Make it through this war safely," she said, a trace of what he almost thought was pleading in her voice. But he knew better. Minerva McGonagall did not plead.

"I'll try, Minerva. I'll try if you do the same."

She nodded against his chest, then stepped back and ran her hands down the front of her robes, smoothing the invisible wrinkles. "You should go now. Time's passing quickly."

Albus nodded and opened the door. He allowed himself a final, lingering look at her face before disappearing back into the snowstorm.

__

Review Responses:

****

Cranky Cauldron: I'm thrilled that you liked that last chapter, and flattered that you enjoy my characterizations. Can you guess what happens next? Haha, thanks for the review. It was appreciated, as always.

****

hikari_clow: Glad you like the story. Hmmm, as for Stripes being secretly in love with Minerva, I really don't know . . . we'll have to wait and see, I guess. Thanks for the review.

****

uber grasshopper: It's great that everyone loved that last line so much. It happens to be one of my favorites, too. Thanks for the review.

****

Minerva Lea: Thanks for the review. I'm happy you found my fic.

****

petriebird18: Haha, calm down there. As for Stripes . . . well, wait and see. I might just throw in a little bit about them later on. ; )

****

Jestana: Grindelwald would go after Minerva because she's Dumbledore's former student and was quite close to him during her school years (animagus training, wanting to be an auror, her general fondness for Transfig.), not to mention that she's now a spy. Of course we know that she's much more than just a student to Dumbledore, but I don't think Grindelwald would realize that. Sorry if I didn't make that clear in the chapter (or in this response). Thanks for the review, though.


	8. The Next Morning: Back Again

__

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AN: I meant to get this up earlier this week, but it's a long chapter and life intervened. I hope to post the next chapter before I go away on Wednesday, but I can't make any promises. Sorry for the delay. Enjoy, and please R&R.

The Next Morning: Back Again

__

"Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared."

~ Eddie Rickenbacker

The next morning Dumbledore headed off to work late, for though he'd healed his minor scrapes and bruises, and even his broken nose, he was still rather sore and, therefore, moving quite slowly. When he finally arrived in his office -fortunately managing to slip in without much notice- he fell into his worn wooden chair and set about preparing an explanation for his slightly askew nose and, if need be, his whereabouts the previous night. He was fairly certain that Grindelwald hadn't had him followed, but he decided that being overly cautious was significantly more forgivable than getting himself, along with Minerva and Merlin only knows who else, killed.

He could say that he'd slipped in the snow, crashed and broken his nose that way. That would account for his stiffness, also . . . but what if Grindelwald asked the other question, where he'd been last night. What could he say then?

"Excuse me, sir," a young boy in a messenger's uniform said from Dumbledore's open doorway. His face was chalky and tense, as if he'd just been sick, and it didn't take a Legilmens to determine what office he'd been sent from. Dumbledore tried to smile as he took the note the boy's shaky hands were holding out to him. He had a good guess what it was about. With a deep breath, he opened the paper and read, "Come to my office immediately." That was all it said, not even an address or signature, not that it needed one. Dumbledore nodded to the boy, who skittered away down the hall, then turned his eyes back to the scrap of parchment. It betrayed no anger, no pleasure, no excitement - no emotion at all. He couldn't figure if that was good or bad, if it meant Grindelwald knew nothing or everything. What was he to expect when he knocked on those ornate wooden doors? Dumbledore really had no idea, which was probably the main reason why he was still in his chair. 

"Fear of the unknown," he muttered, ashamed for being so nervous, though he had to admit that it was understandable. Who wouldn't be at least a little afraid, he reassured himself. After all, Grindelwald was a burning match and Dumbledore was about to go up there drenched in kerosene.

Knowing that he could stall no longer without drawing suspicion, Dumbledore threw the note onto his desktop and pushed himself out of his chair as fast as his sore muscles could go. With stiff but quick strides he began the walk, he focused on possible alibis he could use, completely tuning out the bustling hallways around him.

"Oh! Sorry," a petite blond girl in a military uniform said quickly, after he nearly walked right into her. Before he had a chance to explain that he was a little distracted and it was entirely his fault, though, she was gone. And he didn't have a chance to give her a second thought because the doors to Grindelwald's offices were fast approaching. Pausing a moment, Dumbledore took a deep breath and adjusted his robes and his thoughts. Then he swung open the door, greeted his superior's secretary, and knocked for passage into Grindelwald's private office.

"You wish to see me, sir?" Dumbledore said, forcing his voice to remain even. Thankfully, it did so, and Grindelwald didn't seem to sense his deputy's hesitation. Dumbledore, however, was more perceptive. He saw the flint-gray of his elder's eyes turn to narrow blades of steel in the deep sockets, and knew that the suspicion was already there. 

"Come here." It was a command, and Dumbledore obeyed. When he was standing opposite Grindelwald, only the desk separating them, the other wizard rose from his chair and leaned over so that his narrow face was only a foot from Dumbledore's. "I sent a few of my men to your house last evening. Mysteriously, however, you'd seemed to have vanished." His voice grew thin and cold, like a deadly layer of black ice atop a road. "Where were you?"

Dumbledore's heart froze. He'd never thought up a plausible answer and he wasn't very confident in his ability to improvise. However, he had no other choice. "The storm grew bad while I was walking," Dumbledore said, thankful that his mouth was still working even though the rest of him was numb with fear, "and I tripped on a curb. A woman saw me, thankfully, and let me stay in her house with her family until I could get home safely."

Grindelwald raised a skeptical eyebrow and sneered, "Her family?"

"Yes, sir. Her husband and two children," Dumbledore said, taking a step back. He looked Grindelwald straight in the eye, trusting his occulmency skills were more advanced than his former mentor's legilmency ones. Thankfully, that had always been the one area where Dumbledore had managed to outdo his former teacher.

Grindelwald looked about to smile, but only for a moment. "And does this family have a name?"

"Yes, sir. Wachtel, sir." Dumbledore said the first thing that popped into his head. Grindelwald backed off a little, sitting back down in his chair. Dumbledore continued, knowing that if he hesitated, it would give him away. "They were very kind, sir. They had a daughter in her early twenties and a son about the same age. The wife prepared an excellent dinner for -"

"Enough!" Grindelwald barked, holding up a hand. Dumbledore nodded, still not sure if he'd passed inspection. "Dumbledore, I trust that I do not have to remind you of the dangers associated with blending with the civilians. If any word reaches me that proves even _part_ of your story is untrue, or that you told these people a single thing about your work, you know what the consequences shall be. Now leave, I have much to do."

It took all of Dumbledore's self-control to keep a straight face as he hurried out of the office and back to his own. With a sigh of relief, he sank into his chair and closed his eyes.

He let himself feel a small stab of happiness over the fact that he'd survived the encounter, but it was short-lived. There were still so many things that could go wrong. What if some soldiers were sent out to track down the family that Dumbledore had invented? It would be just like Grindelwald to do that, just to make sure he'd been told the entire story. What could Dumbledore do to prevent it? He pulled his wand from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers as he tried to come up with a solution, or at least an explanation, for their absence. After a few hours and several discarded thoughts, though, he realized that if the guards were sent out, he was surely doomed. There could be no excuse for their absence. All Dumbledore could do was hope that Grindelwald would be too preoccupied with the spies and the war to check up on the story. Of course, hoping that Grindelwald wouldn't be suspicious was like hoping the sun wouldn't rise, but it was too late now. He couldn't go back and change his story. All he could do was wait. 

Dumbledore leaned back, still nervously fiddling with his wand. He twirled it between his fingers and made it shoot of a narrow beam of color, which spun in the air like a ribbon. Darkness had settled back into his mind, like dusk stealing the sky from the sun, but despite it all he was still much happier than he'd been a week before. He'd seen Minerva, at least. He'd talked with her, touched her, hugged her. He'd told her everything, and that allowed a small bit of his regret and misery to subside. And she was doing well for herself; she was strong and smart, with a very promising career ahead of her, and still as beautiful as ever. She was in good company and probably as safe as she could be under the circumstances. Naturally, the protective side of him wished that she were safer, but he knew that she was more than capable of taking care of herself and that she seemed happy with her current position. Besides, it was probably no safer in Germany than it was in England at this point. 

Dumbledore didn't realize it, but he'd been sitting there, lost in his thoughts, for hours, and all around him people were beginning to head home. Drawing himself from his reverie, he too made his way out into the cold and off to his apartment. Along the way, he felt a strong pull to knock on that side door that would lead to the spies' headquarters, if for no other reason than to make sure Minerva and her companions were all right, but he resisted. It could only cause more problems. All in all, as hard as it was for him to think about, he knew it would be best if he just completely removed any knowledge of their existence from his mind. At the same time, though, he knew he would never be able to do that, no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to. Still, he had to at least continue his life as normal, hold himself back from the temptation to spend his every night outside that door, waiting for some sign of them. He should just consider himself lucky for seeing her again, he knew. He shouldn't want any more.

_But I do_, he confessed to himself as he entered his apartment. _I want so much more, so much that I can never have._

Shaking his head dismally, he poured himself some tea and sat down by the window, just as he did every other night. Staring into the cold evening, he held his mind on a short leash. He wanted to be peaceful, if only for a single short hour, and that meant making sure certain thoughts didn't enter his head. He focused on a few stringy clouds drifting by and the stars that were slowly becoming visible as the background of sky darkened.

He'd just given up trying to pick out the different constellations when an unexpected sound made him jump clear out of his chair, nearly spilling what was left of his tea onto his lap. There had been a knock at his door. He stood for an unsure moment, staring across the room toward the door. He'd never received a single visitor, in all his years in Germany, and he wasn't quite sure how to react. 

_Answer the door, of course_, he told himself. But what if it wasn't a visitor? What if Grindelwald had discovered his lie and on the other side of that flimsy wooden barrier a group of soldiers stood waiting to take him to his death?

His body went cold, his mind slowed. That was the only explanation. Who else would want to see him? He'd paid his rent, his neighbors kept to themselves, and Minerva couldn't possibly risk the trip to his apartment, if she even knew where he lived.

Which meant, he soon realized darkly, that these were probably the last few moments of relative freedom he'd ever have. Cold sweat pricked up on his palms and for a brief moment he considered running. He was sure that, if he absolutely had to, he could make it out of his window and down to the street. Quickly, he took a look around, saying a silent goodbye to all that he could call his own, and swept toward the window. As soon as he'd flung it open, a cold wind shot in, taking the breath from his lungs. He was just about to cast one foot out when the knock came again, making him pause a moment and glance back at the door. 

It was in that moment that he realized what he was doing. Running away, he thought, looking down at himself with disgust. When had he changed so much, become this miserable, fleeing beast that he was? There had been a time when he would never have even considered running - or in this case falling - away from his problems. Especially when doing so would solve nothing. His heart was pumping like a drum in his chest and a cold fearfulness was heavy throughout his body, but he closed the window with a slam. Taking a deep breath and feeling the determination and Gryffindor bravery glow in his eyes, he pulled out his wand, marched to the door, and flung it open.

"Minerva?" He exclaimed, staring down in amazement at the startled witch. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you were all right. If this is a bad time, Albus, I can go," she said, blushing slightly under his astonished blue stare.

"No," he said immediately, as she started to turn away, "Come in, please. I was just surprised. I wasn't expecting to see you." He stuffed his wand back into his pocket, letting her into the apartment and closing the door behind her. Already, the remnants of fear had disappeared and a warm glow had taken their place. 

Minerva, however, didn't seem to share his feelings. She was looking around the dismal grey room with heavy eyes.

"Not what you were expecting, I suppose," he said quietly, more than a little embarrassed at the state of his home. She was silent for a moment, her back to him now so he couldn't read her face.

"I really should've learned better than to have any expectations where you're involved," she said, and, though her tone was soft, her words made Dumbledore recoil as if he'd been struck. She sounded so hurt, almost like a little girl again.

"Minerva, I'm sorry. I never meant to dissa-"

Immediately, her shoulders straightened. "No, Albus, I apologize. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that you've given me quite a few surprises in the past two days, and . . ." She spun around, her hand gesturing to the bare walls and gloomy furniture.

Dumbledore nodded. "It's quite all right. I understand. And this place must be just another addition to that list?"

Suddenly he became aware that she was watching him intently, her eyes taking in all her features. The silence between them stretched and Dumbledore wasn't sure if she was purposefully trying to make him uncomfortable or not. She was still watching him intently; he could feel her eyes taking in all his features. 

"Is everything all right?" He finally asked, forcing himself not to shuffle his feet. Her face was still completely unreadable, and it was making him nervous. Had he done something wrong?

Then, with a blink of her shining eyes, she nodded. "I just . . . It's just that your office and suite back at school was so warm and cheerful . . ."

It didn't take a Legilmens to determine that that wasn't what she'd intended to say, but Dumbledore smiled anyhow, allowing himself to recall some of the hours they'd spent in his rooms during her animagus training. Every week for months they would spend time studying the spells and practicing, over and over again, until that one unforgettable day in mid-April, when it had finally all come together. One moment he was looking at his prize student, the next at a small grey tabby cat, which then turned into a excited grey blur as she raced around the room in her euphoria, climbing all over everything and jumping down, crawling underneath whatever she could, and finally settling down at his feet to stare up at him, purring loudly. He remembered beaming at her, so proud that he could barely contain himself, and when she had transformed back into an ecstatic young witch, he couldn't resist pulling her into his arms and twirling her around in celebration. 

"Albus? Why are you smiling?" Minerva asked suddenly, pulling him back to the present. He chuckled.

"I was just remembering your first animagus transformation," he said fondly. This memory elicited a smile from her as well. "I remember finding cat hair all around my sitting room for weeks after that, and in the oddest places, too," he continued. Minerva laughed and grinned sheepishly. "You know, I still remember the house elves commenting on how much they found atop the chandelier. I never quite figured out how you managed that one." He chuckled to himself, the twinkle returning to his eyes and making them light up as they used to.

"If I remember correctly, it was up to the top of your bookshelves-"

"Ah, yes, your favorite hiding place," Albus interrupted with a smile as he moved his only chairs over to the fireplace.

"I did love it up there," Minerva said in an uncharacteristically wistful voice. She took a short breath, and when she spoke again, her normal no-nonsense tone had returned. "From there, though, I believe I leapt to the top of the curtains, climbed out to the middle, and hopped to chandelier. It was quite a lot of fun." She smiled mischievously.

Albus shook his head as he lit the fire and offered Minerva a chair. "Tea?"

"That would be great, thank you. No sugar-"

"And a dash of milk. I remember." He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then came back with two mismatched cups and saucers.

"About this place," he said, handing her a cup and taking a seat beside her.

She held up a slender hand, though, stopping him. "Albus, you needn't explain. It's hardly my business."

"No, I don't mind. I was saying, I never had a chance to get any of my things from Hogwarts, and I could hardly ask Dippet to send them to me here in Germany. I have basically only what I packed when I came to visit Grindelwald that last time, along with a few other things I picked up throughout the years, when necessity called. Obviously, that wasn't often." 

Minerva looked around at the barren shell of an apartment and Dumbledore noticed a sadness creep into her eyes. He decided to change the topic. "Do your comrades know that you're here?" He figured that subject probably wasn't any better than the last one, but at least it was a change.

Minerva stiffened. "Not exactly. I told them I was going for a walk to release some energy, which I did . . . on my way here."

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile. She'd really wanted to come see him, all on her own, and had nearly lied to her friends to do so. "Well, I'm certainly glad that you came, although I do wish you wouldn't wander around these streets, especially after dark," Dumbledore said, looking over into the fire.

"Nobody ever suspects a stray cat, Albus, and I was careful," she told him pointedly.

"You always have been," he said, softer than he meant to. She turned towards him, an odd look on her face, a questioning gleam in her eyes. "I am delighted that you came," Dumbledore repeated, trying to break this uneasy silence they'd built up.

She smiled a little before her eyes darted away to the bare wall above the mantle. This time, he let the silence sit with them for awhile, for no other reason than he couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say. Slowly, they sipped away at their tea and watched the fire perform its lively dance for them. 

Before he'd even realized how much time had slipped away, Minerva shifted in her chair and sighed. "It's getting late. I should be going."

Albus nodded and rose with her. "I'll walk you back."

Minerva smiled, but shook her head. "Thank you, Albus, but that's not necessary. I'm quite capable of walking myself, and it would look rather suspicious if anyone saw you out with me. Not to mention the fact that my friends don't know I'm here. I'll be just fine on my own."

Though he wanted to, Dumbledore knew he couldn't argue with her. All he could do was warn, "I don't know if anyone's watching my apartment, so stay alert. You might not want to transform until you're out of sight."

She cast him a leveling gaze, but he saw the corners of her narrow lips turning up to betray a smile. "Yes, _Professor_," she said pointedly.

His eyes twinkled at her. "My sincerest apologies, but old lifestyles die hard. I still care about you, Minerva, and I would hate for anything to happen to you."

Her look softened and her budding smile bloomed. "I know. I'll be careful, as long as _you_ promise to do the same." He nodded, feeling her smile send little electric shocks up his spine.

For a moment, neither of them moved, and he almost dared to hope that she was as reluctant to leave as he was to have her go. Their eyes were still locked and her smile was sending little jolts to his chest. He felt a light blush redden his cheeks, and every cell in his body seemed to be urging him forward, pushing him toward her.

_No! _he ordered himself, forcing his eyes to the floor. He had finally managed to see her again, to speak with her - she wasn't even upset with him! He couldn't ruin that now. He didn't want her to leave embarrassed, angry, or worse, disgusted. He couldn't do it. 

He wouldn't do it.

With a deep, calming breath he hoped she didn't notice, he led her the few steps to the door and held it open. She stepped into the hall, then spun back quickly to face him.

"I mean it, Albus. Be careful," she said.

He nodded, adding, "You, too, Minerva. This is a dangerous city." 

She took a step back, then turned and swept down the hall. As soon as she was out of sight, Dumbledore sighed and closed the door.

Review Responses:

****

Jestana: Glad you liked it. I agree - Stripes definetly does have a lesson to learn as far as dealing with Minerva goes. Thanks for reading.

****

Palanfanaiel: Thanks for the review!

****

petriebird18: Ah yes, Stipes. He's an odd one. Gem is, of course, another spy : ) And Albus will realize where he's seen her before, but she might have to remind him. Ahh, I really can't give away anything else. I want to tell it all so bad!! Thanks for the review!

****

uber grasshopper: I promise there will be fight scenes . . . just not yet. It's a good one, though. Be patient. Thanks for the review!


End file.
